


A Delirium of Light

by alligatorblood



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anarchist!Rosalie, Bella With a Sword!, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Captain!Jasper, Character Death/Resurrection, Demons, F/F, Graphic Violence, Half-Vampires, Horror, Jasper/Alice (background), Monstrous AND Hot Vampirism, Murder, Possession, Requested, Sea Monsters, and some Romance!, horror/comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alligatorblood/pseuds/alligatorblood
Summary: Desperate to get out of London, Rosalie Hale hires a ship to make the dangerous voyage to a remote island far beyond the knowledge of humankind. With a hired bodyguard and her own personal swordswoman, the noble daughter ventures out to sea with Hell in her slow-beating heart.Or Rosalie tracking down her ex...
Relationships: Rosalie Hale/Bella Swan, Rosalie Hale/Victoria (past)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	1. Vices

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I've been getting a lot of requests for a cute Rosella slow-burn... This is not that!! (Though it IS Rosella, don't get it twisted!)
> 
> This is a bit of a dark one, but there’s love and blood and pirates, so it’s not all morbid! Almost everyone is human unless stated otherwise.
> 
> T for now, but it might get up to M later for violence and gore.

"You _will_ protect me," the woman says, a cold glint in the steely blue of her eyes.

First mate McCarty finds himself nodding dumbly, a sweaty grip on the arms of his chair. There is a silent _or else_ welded to her words that even a knucklehead like Emmett can hear clear as day, shiny as the ruby red vial hanging from a cord around her neck. Just looking at her causes a crack in the silver mirror of his eternal soul.

She traces his gaze and smiles darkly before tucking it beneath the ornate neckline of her dress under her black cloak. "Do we have a deal?"

Protection and safe passage aboard his swiftest of vessels. This woman- Emmett recognizes quite easily as the youngest daughter of the Lord Mayor- in all her finery would like to make a voyage and from the sack of coin she dropped on the table when she burst through the doors, she'd like to make it _now_.

"What's your destination?" he asks warily.

The fire in her eyes retreats and fear floods the vacancy. A little princess biting off more than she can chew and so very aware of it.

"Look, I can see you're not prepared for something like this. When you go out to sea, the option to change your mind leaves with the shoreline. You've got the coin, sure, but I don't think you've put much thought into this."

He does not see where the dagger comes from, only the deadly reflection in the candlelight as she plunges it into the table between them, an inch into the wood. With her thin fingers still wrapped around the bloodred hilt, she leans forward- a woman possessed, he's quite sure- and glares another icy fracture into his life force.

Emmett swallows, chilled yet unmistakably drawn. How could he not be? Men have been known to fall from the mere sight of the Lord Mayor's Rose. Blond and lithe, a jewel in this putrid city of death and violence. One could only imagine just what she could do with that knife.

He glances nervously at the map spread out on the table and pinned with her blade. He goes cold all over at the oft-ignored yet pierced landmass. She gives a slight nod at his questioning look and dread crams his sterling stomach.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing? Do you understand what you're asking me to do? What could you possibly want with that place?"

"It is nothing of your concern."

"Bullshit. I'd be risking my life- a whole _crew's_ life- all for the whims of some spoiled noble brat with too much money to throw around." He grabs the edge of the table and stands, towering over her now, but she does not back down. "This is not a job. This is a death."

She leans heavily against the desk suddenly, as if losing her strength. Her glare weakens, and behind it, he glimpses her desperation. This is no thrill-seeking romp for the bored rich. No. He thinks of the vial around her neck and all that it means. The blood of the dead and damned. He sweeps her long neck with his eyes, horrified at the puncture scars. She sheer _number_ of them.

"I know death," she says quietly, pushing to her feet. Her hair falls over her shoulders in pale serpent's tongues. "I know it intimately. And it will know me if you do not take me where I have to go."

…

…

Captain Whitlock swings onto the _Klytaimestra_ with his knife clutched between his teeth. He lands roughly behind one Edward Masen, who, frightened beyond belief, drops his precious field journal- already a quarter filled despite their moored position in the raucous harbor.

"Christ!" the scholar squeaks, dropping to the sun-warmed planks of the deck to gather his beloved papers. "You can't go flying around without a care! With _weapons_! Have some decency, _please_ , Captain!"

Jasper throws his head back and laughs, clapping the man on the back of his messy red head. He knows the type. Overeducated tricky minds with soft stomachs and weak hearts. But they always manage to discover something no matter how mundane the journey. A new bird or microscopic fish, a philosophical epiphany or an aversion to boats.

"Schoolboy, if you don't keep those eyes open, the sea'll pluck them out!"

"Wh-What?" He collects his papers into his arms and scrambles to his feet. "Surely, you're joking. We wouldn't go anywhere near… _pirates_ , would we?"

There's a small commotion on the dock below. Jasper leaves the floundering academic and crosses the deck, leaning over with a grin. "Hello, English!" he shouts, disrupting the small crowd of people cluttering his crew as they struggle to load the cargo. "Yes, yes, it _is_ exciting, isn't it? Lord Mayor's Rose!"

The woman by the name sends him a blistering look from the middle of the crowd as McCarty walks beside her with his arms shielding her from bystanders. It's slow-going, and the woman looks murderous, but eventually, they make it to the loading ramp.

Up close, she really is everything they say. Beautiful like a razor blade through the brain. It hurts deep in his chest when she glances his way, the slow and potent poison of her beauty. The moment she steps onto the _Klytaimestra_ , Jasper knows somewhere in his marrow right up next to the sea salt: they're all going to die.

Emmett gives him a strained look as he presents London's Darling with a silent gesture.

"Captain Jasper Whitlock of the _Klytaimestra_ ," Jasper says with an exaggerated bow.

"I do not wish to meet you," she says, extending her long, graceful hand anyway. When he lowers his lips to her knuckles, she grabs his chin with her free hand, digging into the skin through his beard. Her gaze is pure frostbite. "Nothing will happen to me aboard your ship," she says, and it is true once she utters it. It must be.

The captain nods, sincere for perhaps the first time in his rowdy and lawless life. She releases him and steps back into the menacing aura of his first mate. There is another girl with them, a small mouse of a thing he hadn't noticed before. Next to Rosalie Hale, she is _quite_ invisible, making the sword at her side twice as deadly. Rosalie reaches for her hand as they follow Emmett to their new quarters. Jasper watches them go, feeling his zeal for the sea return like the tide as they disappear.

He shouts at the flock of admirers milling on the dock to get their eyes back. "English! Unfortunately, we must depart soon, and with us, we take all the beauty of London. Do try not to fall without her!"

…

…

Isabella Swan squeezes Rose's fingers as Mr. McCarty leads them through the practical maze below deck. Special accommodations have been made for them including a larger cabin at the expense of half the crew's comfort. To Bella, it should be unthinkable, but she has long witnessed the way the world bends and kneels at Rosalie's feet.

Mr. McCarty opens a heavy door and ushers them inside. It's lit with old lamps and few musty candles, but the bedding is plush, the desk is sturdy, and Rosalie's chests are stacked neatly against the wall, leaving them a great deal of space to move around.

Rosalie nods at the large man and he leaves without a word, the door clicking shut behind him. Bella doesn't doubt he's standing right outside, a tough look on his face, ready to rip the spine from the first curious crew member to so much as look in this direction.

Alone together, Rosalie lets out a breath and sits at the end of the large bed.

"Are you alright?" Bella asks gently. She has served her since childhood. A special familiarity has grown in the space between them. She supposes at this point, her heart is sewn neatly into Rose's cool palm.

Her face is cast in shadow when she looks up but the faint smile on her red lips banishes all traces of darkness from the room. She twists the vial around her neck between her fingers.

Bella sits beside her, mindful of the sword she would so thoughtlessly gore into even the slightest enemy of her Rose. She pulls the heavy barrettes from Rose's hair, smoothing it as it falls down her back in soft waves the color of unbleached silk. Rose closes her eyes and leans into Bella's hand, breathing slowly.

"One step closer," Bella whispers, admiring her long eyelashes.

"Indeed," Rose mutters. She reaches behind her head and stokes Bella's wrist idly. Well, not idly to Bella who knows quite well what she wants. The crowd tired her out. She would never admit it but sparkling for the people of London hurts her. She's been especially strung-out lately, quickly fatigued, delirious at times. It is not easy for Bella to watch in silence, so she ventures.

"It isn't wise," she says, glancing away nervously as Rose's eyes flutter open. "If you were cold, I would build you a fire. If you needed clothes, I would give you mine."

"I know," Rosalie breathes, eyes glassy as it comes over her. Red bleeds into her blue irises like dye into water. The boat rocks, signifying departure.

"So don't fight it. My life has always been yours."

"Yes," Rosalie says. She pulls Bella's hand from her head and cradles it in her hands like it is something precious like a baby bird. Her jaw cracks unnaturally. "It has, hasn't it?"

Bella only nods and tries to contain her horror as the small muscles of Rose's beautiful face creak to accommodate the teeth growing inside her mouth.

"I do love you," Bella says quietly. "I know you know that."

Rosalie runs her red eyes along the inside of Bella's arm, rapt on high, no longer on this plane. "Of course, I know," she says with too many voices. And all Bella can do is clamp her hand over her mouth and scream as Rosalie viciously sinks her teeth into her wrist.


	2. Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more set-up this chapter, and then we're off, I promise!

Three days in, Captain Whitlock takes in a lungful of nostalgic briny air. Down a first mate to the cold woman below, he'd recruited young Mr. Newton, a skilled sailor, at the cost of his cloying eagerness and all-around demeanor of a dumb mutt.

Michael- _Mike, if you'd please_ \- clings to Jasper's shadow, unused to apprenticing another. Perhaps it was a strange choice, this son of a fisherman, but the captain has time and again seen the boy guide his father's rickety old vessel with technical perfection and practiced ease. That sort of dedication to competence is just the sort of thing Jasper needs for the voyage ahead. At least getting there.

They pass the Masen schoolboy hunched over a barrel with a compass and a chicken-scratch map of the coastline.

"Hello!" Mike practically woofs at the stick bug of a man.

Edward starts and scatters his pencils and papers once again. "Hah-Hello! Must you keep doing that, Captain?"

"Yes," Jasper says as he turns to leave. On second thought, he turns and points to a random spot in the wide blue of his map. "Real ship graveyard there. But I think our chances are good! Great, even."

Edward and Mike pale identically.

"Keep an eye on the water," Jasper says as he leans in conspiratorially, barely managing to conceal a smile that would ruin it all. "I'm counting on you, schoolboy."

…

…

"Masen, I've heard that name. You're from Oxford aren't you?" a silhouette says from the other side of the kitchen as Edward pokes through the crates for something resembling edible food.

Edward turns to find a beast of a man balancing three trays of food on his barrel-sized arms. Gold rings glint from his fingers as he struggles to keep the food from plummeting.

"My father is a professor there, yes. A chemist."

"And what's a smart kid like you doing on a trip like this?"

Edward frowns. "I'm not sure I take your meaning, Mr.-"

"Call me Emmett. And I meant just what I said. You _do_ know where we're headed, don't you?"

"But of course. The imagination runs wild at the potential flora of the Hidden Isle."

The man- Emmett- gives him a blank look to which Edward scoffs, bored already, and walks out of the kitchen without so much as a biscuit for the journey back to his cabin.

As he is walking, he thinks of the home he left behind; a house of ill children, a weakening wife. In his circles, there had been talk of a doomed voyage to a land of endless opportunity if you survived that long. The old stories promised potent healing herbs and roots among other things. A shot in the dark perhaps, but the sway of the ship beats the spray of blood from an infant's coughing fit and the clammy hands of his wife.

Besides, he is at heart, a _scientist_. The job is never done. There is always more to explore and categorize and study. And it's _only_ a place that they are oriented toward. Just a bit of land surrounded by rough water and misfortune. And nothing more than that.

Edward rounds the corner to his cabin and nearly falls to his knees at the sight of her. A hammer to his skull, compressing his vertebrae, he stops short. The rock of the ship on the waves pulls his balance from beneath him.

The woman turns from the map tacked to the wall with her hands resting on her belt upon which hangs a small but respectable sword. Edward clutches the wall to steady himself. The woman looks up at the sound, curious brown eyes, a soft face and a slight frown at the sight of him. He had heard the Lord Mayor's Rose would be aboard the _Klytaimestra_. The tales of her beauty rival Venus. They say the sun rises above London for her alone.

"Miss Hale, an honor," he says, straightening and putting a closed hand over his chest.

The woman laughs at that. "Fool boy," she says.

"I beg your pardon?" Edward recoils the slightest bit as the angelic aura around her wanes. Now that he's looking, she is quite plain. And just what kind of woman carries a sword? And wears _trousers!_

"I am only her travel companion," the woman says. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin, smiling at something far beyond the baffled scholar.

"Oh, do keep up the charade, darling. I'd much rather you take the weight of the public eye," a silvery voice says from a few feet behind him.

Cold whips around him like a blizzard in the rickety, cramped corridor. He turns slowly toward the voice, and this time his knees do buckle as the mere sight of her cuts into him like a knife he cannot pull out.

Rosalie Hale, in the flesh. Her gaze stings like nettle, like falling in the street. When her eyes leave him, he ceases to exist entirely. She leaves without a word, only pausing to nod to her companion before disappearing with a flutter of her skirts.

Edward pulls himself to his feet, shuddering and damp with cold sweat. He brushes himself off and shoots a pointed look at the plain-faced companion. "Well, I won't wait all day."

"What for?"

"An apology. For yourself and on your _companion's_ behalf."

The woman shakes her head with an amused smile, and in a flash of movement, she has the sword from her belt. The well-forged blade digs into the vulnerable flesh beneath his chin. Her grip is steady, practiced, and _deliberate_. "Say that again, fool boy."

"I-I…" he warbles, flattening against the wall like a starfish. "Unhand me!"

"Your disrespect will get you killed." She releases him and sheathes her sword, then feints at him, grinning as he flinches away from her. "That's better."

As she walks away, Edward Masen realizes with a hand to his heart that he's already half in love with her.

…

…

At dusk, Rosalie stands on the deck in the stillness of the evening. The sea is calm but trembling, she can feel it just now through the sturdy wood. Her guard hangs a few paces back, keeping an eye on her as she walks along the starboard side, a breeze lifting her hair and pulling her cloak along.

The skeleton crew give her looks as she passes. They range from fear to undisguised lust and back again, as is the content of her showy life in London. But just because you're used to something, doesn't mean you're okay with it. We all make sacrifices. And sometimes sacrifices speak.

 _Victoria_.

The name alone pulls Rosalie across the ocean, despite quite valiant efforts to the contrary.

She can feel the ghosts of hands on her waist, pressing her against the shelves of the library, just inches between them and the party in full-swing outside. The red vial grows hotter against her sternum as she brushes her long hair aside. Her own blood simmers in response, and there is less of it these days but enough to work the mechanism of her heart.

_My soul, my carnage, my Rosalie._

Rose's chest cracks open at the purple in the dying sunset. She falters against the rail. Behind her, Emmett closes the gap and catches her before she crumples to the planks below.

"Miss," he says, setting her on her feet. "Maybe we should go inside."

"Have you felt it?" she asks as he guides her along. "Have you been?"

"Been?"

"Burned by love."

"No, I haven't."

She looks at him and his whole life falls out before her like the dropped end of a scroll. It's all in his eyes; the rough childhood in the polluted slums, the slippage into the dark world beneath the city, Captain Whitlock's heroic rescue that plunged him into this life of a seafaring giant.

"Because you know the difference. The life you've lived has shown you," she says, somewhere far off. Burned by love indeed. Some days, she might as well be smoke on the wind. Emmett steadies her once more, this time holding his arm out for her to take.

"The difference between what?" he asks as they descend.

"Romance and despair."

He furrows his brow, probably unaccustomed to such talk. The ramblings of a collapsing woman who only hours ago was quite capable of balancing his life at the edge of her ornate dagger.

"You are different," he says as they approach her cabin. He pulls the key from his belt and turns it in the lock. "You are not what I thought."

"Your preconceptions have nothing to do with me. But it is rather funny."

"What?"

She lets go of his arm and steps inside. "You are exactly what I thought."

The door closes quietly behind her as she grabs her hairbrush from the desk. She sits before the old oval mirror, a bit dazed. The salty wind doesn't agree with the measured elegance she likes to keep about herself. The movement of the brush is rhythmic yet tactile enough to bring her back to her senses.

She glances at Bella in reflection, sleeping soundly on the bed, her sword laying on the floor beneath, a mere reflex away. She stirs as Rose climbs onto the bed with her and turns her head to accept the kiss pressed into her soft lips.

"Okay?" she mumbles, still very sleepy.

Rose hums. She brushes her hair from her face and trails a hand down to the curve of her hip bone. "Buckle down, my love. The peace will not last the night."


	3. Chosen

The Lord Mayor's Rose takes up his quarters by pure shine alone. Even at sea, she is dripping in rubies and fine silk. Perhaps to distract from the blood vial resting against her pale chest. A stranger to the vampire's thrall, Captain Whitlock is not. After all, it is Alice he sails for. And from her visions, he knows Rosalie Hale is never but a single decision away from slaughter.

She stands before his table, thin fingers gripping the high back of the empty chair as the ship pitches suddenly through the rough and churning water. "Tell me that you have prepared."

Jasper kicks his feet up on the table and breaks through the crisp skin of a red apple with the blade of his knife. "Did you hold up your end?"

"Of course."

He suspects she's lying, but they've already come this far. In truth, he agreed to take her to the dark island in a moment of foolish intrigue even though every rational fiber within him begged him to decline. His reputation on the high seas is strong and one earned through a short but significant career of risks. And _risk_ he can deal with, but blind stupidity is another thing entirely.

Rosalie is not blind. Nor is she stupid. Desperate, maybe. Naive, certainly.

Jasper skins the apple in a long curly strand of bright red. "Just how much gold does a young man's life run for these days? Surely daddy dear's Brotherhood would know."

Her gaze narrows, but she is not so easily ruffled. "The family will be compensated only when I return safely. Believe _that_ if you will not believe me."

The captain presses his thumb to the blade. "Rosie-posie, I have never believed a word from that silver tongue."

She smiles and stands remarkably firm as the boat tosses the room around. "Have it your way, Captain. But we are crossing that threshold."

"Or what?" He says with a grin that might just match her own. "There'll be Hell to pay?"

…

…

Outside the captain's quarters, Bella sits alongside Mr. McCarty, passing back and forth a worn map that just barely includes their destination off the corner like a shaky afterthought. A last-minute warning.

"How does it go again?"

Mr. McCarty points to their general vicinity. "Rough water, storms. Nothing we can't handle."

"And there?" she says, sliding the leagues with the tip of her finger.

"Fog."

"Here?"

"Certain death."

"Ah. Wondrous."

He folds the map and tucks it into his pocket. Bella notices with a shade of envy that he is tall enough to brace his feet against the other side of the narrow corridor. With every dip and jostle of the ship, she feels herself thrown, helpless almost.

"So how did you end up swordswoman for the Hales?"

"No title follows my name, Mr. McCarty."

"Emmett, please."

She nods once and presses back into the wall as the floor beneath them swells with the pressure. "Would you believe she chose me from the view out her window? I was playing with the neighbor boys. We were thumping each other with sticks, trying to forget how hungry we were, and the next thing I knew, there she was, all angelic in the mud of the courtyard. She reached a hand out, and that was it."

"And they allowed you to train?"

"Perhaps they should not have. But Rose gets what she wants. Always."

"I've noticed."

"No," she says flatly, "you haven't."

Emmett lets out a tired breath and rolls his shoulders. It must be difficult for him to stick so close to Rose instead of tackling his usual duties aboard the _Klytaimestra._ Especially in this kind of weather as the situation slowly creeps toward tones of concern.

"I grew up in the shit too," he says after a while.

"Didn't we all?"

"Hah!" He leans his head back against the wall and looks up. "Guess so, kid."

Inside the captain's quarters, the steady murmur of voices thins out a bit. Emmett automatically climbs to his feet and helps her to hers just as the door pops open. Rose glides out, glittering and enraged. The captain stands in the doorway after her, twirling his knife through his fingers.

He winks at Bella. "I do not envy you or your sword, Miss Swan."

…

…

Edward sketches from memory as the rain pounds the deck above. He'd been startled awake early in the morning from the tossing of the ship. He was facedown in a lump on the floor before he realized the severity of the storm. A leafy fringe grows across the page from the nib of his pen.

As he finishes, he blows across the page to dry the ink and steps back to admire his work. Then he goes to find her.

Isabella Swan, as he has learned from milling about the crew. Sword for the Hales, for the noble daughter specifically. From nothing, with nothing, coming into nothing, and _yet_ her eyes- so large and brown- blink at him in his dreams.

At home, his wife is waiflike and fair, quite like the Lord Mayor's Rose pulled in half. Quartered, perhaps. She is haunted by the illness of their children, sleepless, gaunt and gone. No light left to her.

But for Isabella to still shimmer beside the Light of London herself… It must mean something. The way she held her sword to his neck, poised to slash and yet _refrained_ must mean he impressed her enough to keep him around. And he will work to build on that impression.

So he searches for her and finds her quite easily in the crew's crowded dining area, sitting close beside Miss Hale, their heads bent together. Miss Hale traces a finger across the back of Isabella's hand and whispers something in her ear. After which the girl flushes a deep shade of red.

Edward's heart leaps. She must have seen him coming!

With confidence puffing up his chest, he crosses the dining area and sweeps into a bow. "Good morning, Miss Swan. Lord Mayor's Rose."

They look up in unison, blank and irritated, respectively. Edward swallows and takes a small step back as his bravery seems to evaporate into the thick below-deck air.

"F-For you," he says, sliding the page across the rough wooden table to Isabella before spinning around and running for the hills.

…

…

Back in their cabin, Bella unfolds the paper from Edward Masen at the desk as Rose removes her jewelry. Rose watches her face for a reaction but finds nothing conclusive. "I saw no reason to kill him _then_ ," Bella mutters.

"Let me see that," Rose says, snatching the silly drawing from her lover's hands. The perspective is lackluster but it bears a resemblance to a humanoid creature with large eyes surrounded by the common Lady's Fern. And a plumage of hearts. "A fine gift. For a schoolgirl. Will you invite me to the wedding?"

"You, of course. Him? Absolutely not, _Lord Mayor's Rose_ ," Bella mocks, nipping at her earlobe.

Rose laughs softly. "Yes, I. My father's object."

"No longer."

"You're quite right," Rosalie says, feeling silver pride gleam in her chest. "You were magnificent that morning. I shall never forget the sunlight off your blade as he fell. And the crimson after."

Weak venom rushes to her mouth at the red blush in Bella's cheeks. Embarrassment has her stumbling as she goes to sit on the bed. She isn't one to accept praise and Rose isn't one to freely give it, but it's true. Rose's slow heart races at the memory, the blood splashed across her cheek.

"I mean it. You are everything to me."

"Then what are we doing out here?"

Rosalie lowers herself into Bella's lap and runs her hands over her slumped shoulders. "We're doing what's needed. Nothing more."

"I don't like what she does to you." Her voice is small but full of worry. She is so unlike anybody else in the long parade of people who have come in and out of Rosalie's life claiming to care about her. "I can't protect you. Not from her. I'm not strong enough."

Rose smiles widely at that. "You? Not strong enough? You, who not one week ago slayed my father- the most powerful man in London- with a single strike?"

She winces slightly. "Rose…"

"I feel so safe with you it's almost boring."

Bella rests her hands low on Rose's hips. "Well, that doesn't make me feel better."

"Then _let me_ ," she says with a gentle hand on her neck. Bella misunderstands and lifts her wrist, an offering. A sparkly but wan smile. Rose catches her palm and kisses it before guiding it to her waist once more. "No, love. Let me make you feel better."

Her brown eyes go wide as it clicks. It's almost as adorable as the way they screw shut minutes later as Rosalie curls her fingers inside of her, the room filled with soft gasps and quickened breath. And just to dispel any lingering insecurities of strength or heart, Rosalie leans forward and whispers against her ear as she reaches her edge. "We will bring my father's order to its knees. London will _weep_."

…

…

From the crow's nest, Captain Whitlock squints through the chaos and the pissing rain. He trains his spyglass dead ahead. They're getting close to the threshold, he doesn't need his eyes to tell him that.

"How's it looking?" Mike Newton shouts over the rain. He's clinging to the netted rigging below.

"Less talking!"

"More what?"

"What?"

"Sir! The phrase is 'less talking, more…' and that's where you put what I should be doing!"

"Oh! Less talking, more _shutting up_ , Mr. Newton!" Jasper turns from the boy and goes back to his spyglass just in time to see an enormous scaly head disappear beneath the mountainous waves.

"Uh, what was that?" Mike asks, rubbing at his eyes vigorously with his free fist.

Captain Whitlock swallows as a shadow deepens off the port bow. From the dark water, the rotting corpse of a gargantuan serpent rises slowly to the height of the crow's nest, flooding the deck with water and rotten flesh. The hell-haunted yellow eyes give away the demon possessing the creature's husk.

The abomination rears its head and screeches loud enough to shake the _Klytaimestra_ around her nails. Jasper's beard whips around in the rancid wind. He lowers his scope. "Well, fuck me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend pointed out to me that this is my twelfth Rosella fic! I thought that was cool!
> 
> Anyway, monstrous cliffhanger. Live laugh love.


	4. Puncture

The _Klytaimestra_ pitches violently, the angle so harsh the wall that Rose's trunks had been stacked against becomes the new floor beneath Bella's stumbling feet. For her part, Rosalie looks unsurprised if not a little miffed at the displacement of her luggage.

"What's _happening_?" Bella shouts over the deafening screeching coming from outside.

"A watchman," Rose says, steadying herself against a wall that used to be the ceiling. "I told you this would happen near the threshold! I _warned_ the captain."

Bella throws open the hall door, relieved to find Emmett hanging onto the door frame to keep from sliding down the corridor into god knows what. She grabs his arm and hefts him to his feet with all her strength.

"Miss Hale," he pants. "It's not safe. Any way I can convince you to stay here?"

"Perhaps," Rose says airily, "if you have a death wish."

…

…

Captain Whitlock wraps his forearm tightly with the line and leaps from the crow's nest. He pulls his crossbow from his back and aims for the eyes as he cuts through the air to the upper deck.

The possessed beast tears its massive curved teeth into the sails, snapping a mast like a twig. Its long tail wraps around the stern and crushes metal in on wood. The ship tilts as they begin to take on water. Below, the crew work the cannons through their panic. The stone spheres whiz through the air and punch into the Promethean brute.

"It isn't alive!" their captain shouts. "Destroy the body! The demon inside will follow!"

Emmett McCarty and Bella Swan burst from below deck and waste not a second before hacking into the beast's pearly belly. Emmett with his heavy cleaver, Bella with her trusty sword. The beast's flesh comes apart in sheets and clumps that land heavily on the cracked boards of the deck.

Jasper scans the mutilation for the Newton boy and finds him in the crow's nest, diligently firing away. Competent, that kid. A real shame. But no time to dwell. He unhooks the length of chain from his belt and skillfully winds it around a broken-off tip of the mast. "A little help, Rosie!" he shouts.

In a flash of red silk, the Lord Mayor's Rose appears by his side and lifts the fifteen-foot spike off the deck with ease. She catches his eyes and he nods. "With all your might."

She thrusts the spike like a crude spear into the beast's giant head, glorious in her deathly strength. Putrid black blood rains from the gore. Together Rosalie and the captain heave the chain and yank the serpent's head down to the deck where Emmett and Bella and the rest of the crew are waiting with raised blades.

…

…

Emmett hacks feverishly for his family, for the crew, hell, for _himself_. He hacks until his muscles give out and he collapses in a heap on top of bloody scales and rot, demon long-vanquished. Captain Whitlock lets out a bark of laughter as he falls.

On his back, Emmett looks up at the storming sky and smiles, a bloody victory.

On her feet beside him, Bella sheathes her sword and wipes the back of her hand across her face. They share a smile.

Miss Hale clears the blood from her eyes and flicks it away.

There really is no ship like the _Klytaimestra._

…

…

Captain Whitlock gives the signal.

Just a nod and a two-finger touch to the brim of his hat, but it has the crew snapping to attention. They straighten up despite the blood and guts clinging to them.

Mike Newton descends from the crow's nest, landing heavily in a puddle of entrails, but beaming like the pup they've come to know over the length of this trip. His crossbow hangs in his right hand while his left fist pumps at the sky. "Lord on _high,_ that was incredible! I don't even think we lost anyone!" He spins around to celebrate with his friends and crewmates, but nobody else is smiling or jumping for joy. He frowns, confused. And Jasper knows he doesn't understand why his crewmates are closing in on him. "Guys?"

Some of them shoot him apologetic looks, but most know it's only orders. This isn't for their consciences. Some things are just bigger than them. Than anyone, really. They round on him and grab him by the shoulders.

"No… No, Captain! What are-"

"Hell demands a sacrifice, Mr. Newton," the captain says, removing his hat.

"I'm not- I haven't done anything wrong! You can't- You're all crazy!" he shouts, spit flying, veins bulging. "You think you're going to survive this, but you're _not_! Nobody sails to the Border of Hell and lives to tell about it! You're _insane_."

A crewman lunges for his crossbow and struggles to wrench it from the frightened sailor. "You bastards!" Mike yells as the bow's mechanism snaps and fires a bolt across the rotten debris and gore and straight into the heart of Isabella Swan.

Mike freezes and drops his hand as the crossbow is wrestled out of his grip. The rest of the crewmen back away as the girl clutches at the flared end of the bolt where it protrudes from her rapidly darkening chest. She coughs and staggers, eyes to the sky as if lost in a delirium of light.

A chorus of screams rips through the bloodied air. Guttural and inhuman, borrowed from the island on the horizon. The Lord Mayor's Rose catches the girl before she falls. A pulse of energy bursts from the dead girl's chest, quieting the ocean and clearing the clouds in an instant.

"It-it was an accident," Mike stammers in the sudden sunshine and calm surf. He glances around at the other crew members for support and finds none.

When the head of London's Darling snaps up, her eyes are red. Her jaw cracks and lengthens. Bright fangs descend as she snarls.

"M-Miss Hale, I-"

She rushes him like a demon and rams the blade of her dagger through his neck and deep into the mast behind him. Her teeth scrape the metal as she drains his blood. The crewmen trip over each other as they scramble back in terror. The star of their every fantasy slashing her way into a living nightmare.

She blurs after all of them, invisible until her teeth rupture their jugulars. Their bones crush beneath her hands. Bodies collect around the head of the serpent. Captain Whitlock watches it all unfold, just as Alice said it would. "Rosie-posie, I believe that's enough."

"I will eat your soul," she seethes, her own layered echo. Blood leaks from her gruesome mouth.

"Tempting, but I hope you've noticed. We've crossed the threshold."

"It was supposed to be _him_ ," she spits, holding a bloody hand in the direction of Mike's limp corpse.

"Well, in a way it was him. And my crew. And your girl."

"I-"

A hatch on the deck pops open and smacks loudly against the body of the cook (still holding his beloved spear), and out climbs Edward Masen. His hair is flattened on one side as if he'd been sleeping. He yawns and stretches before he sees the carnage and cowers, throwing his long arms protectively over his head. "What on earth?"

Rosalie's eyes blacken. She twists her grip on her dagger.

Jasper is content to let her get her rage out, but some movement amidst the slaughter catches his eye. The twitch of an arm. Pale fingers wrapping around the hilt of a small sword. With an unholy gasp, Bella Swan sits up and rips the bolt from her chest. She tosses it aside, breathing heavily.

The captain leaps over the jaw of the serpent and slides across the blood to get to her. "Rosalie!" he shouts. He puts his hand on the girl's back to keep her up.

The knife falls from Rosalie's hand as she turns. At the sight of her love, she nearly falls. In half a heartbeat, she has the girl tightly in her arms. When Bella's eyes blink open, they glow bright yellow before fading to meld with the brown.

This wasn't in Alice's vision.

…

…

As Emmett locks up their door from the outside, Rosalie falls to her knees at Bella's feet and wraps herself tightly around her waist. "I am so fucking sorry."

Bella hugs her bloody blond head to her stomach, but there are no words for the knife's edge of oblivion and the nothingness of death.

"I can't do any of this without you."

She sinks to the floor with Rose and the puddle of serpent's blood from their clothes. Bella leans into her completely. Rose holds her face so close to her own and wipes Bella's tears with her thumbs. "I love you, I'm so sorry." She kisses her cheeks and her nose, the corner of her mouth, her chin. "I love you. I killed them all."

…

…

Hours later, Bella ventures out into the corridor in hopes of fetching her sword from the captain. Mangling that sea monster did a number on her little blade, and he promised to hammer out the worst of it and give it a good sharpening.

Rose catches her wrist before she gets too far and pulls her back for a kiss. She knows all traces of blood have been scrubbed from the both of them, but something tells her Rose still sees her lying dead on that deck.

"I won't be long," Bella says, pulling away.

When she turns around, who else but Edward Masen is at the end of the corridor, staring in shock. His thick eyebrows pull together as a grimace presses into his face. He has another sheet of paper in his hands, no doubt taken up by her approximate likeness. "I'd done this for you," he says stiffly, flapping the drawing. "Now I see my attentions are wasted."

"Yes."

"But it's not right!" he says. His hands crumple up the paper. "You are her _servant_. She does not care for you as I do."

Bella laughs sharply. "And how do you _care for me_? The same way you care for your wife?"

He blanches and sputters for a good five seconds before she cuts him off cold. Amazing what dying can do to show you what you deserve and what you certainly _do not_.

"Mr. Masen, I literally died while you were sleeping. And now there's probably a demon in me, so I will not hesitate to blame it on her when I cut your throat. Understand?"

Edward gulps and nods dumbly. "I'm-"

"That's quite enough, fool boy." She holds her hand out for the drawing. "Give it here."

Sheepishly, he passes her the crumpled paper wad. Smoothed out, it's covered in small, dribbly ink birds flapping around two people holding hands inside a giant heart. Bella raises an eyebrow at the scholar who just flushes and looks away.

"Draw your silly pictures, then. But don't expect anything from me. I owe you nothing, and I never will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Rose effectively utilize girlpower when she slaughtered the entire crew?


	5. Lividity

"So you're a demon now?"

"Just possessed," Bella says absently, holding an apple over her book and tracing the lines as she reads with her pinky finger.

Emmett nods slowly, trying to make some sense out of the past few days. Everything's been so twisted since Miss Hale burst into his life a little more than a week ago. "I guess you're no more dangerous than your woman. Or Captain Whitlock for that matter."

She hums in agreement. "I saw his vial tucked away in his sleeve."

"What is it about vampires?" Emmett mutters, dragging a cloth over the dried blood down his arm. She's quick with that little sword, that's for sure. The two of them have been sparring on and off to stay sharp. After all, they're the only swords left aside from the captain. And Miss Hale, who needs no weapons (no matter how much she favors that knife of hers). "Who's in her vial?"

Bella takes a bite of the apple and holds her hand in front of her mouth as she speaks matter-of-factly. "She fell in love with a vampire anarchist who was only using her to get to her father's cult."

"Jesus." Emmett tosses the bloodied rag into the bowl of water on the table. He thinks of that day on the deck, dazed and so far out of it. _Have you been? Burned by love._

"It went too far, as those things do," Bella says. She turns the page of her book. "You've seen her scars. She's more than a thrall… she's _half-turned_. She always says Victoria never could finish a thing she started."

"Is she worth all this?"

"Victoria?" Bella tilts her head with the name. "I wouldn't know. What they had ravaged her. But it also opened her eyes to the truth of her father's evil."

"I meant Miss Hale."

Bella is silent for a moment. Her eyes brighten into that eerie gold they take on when she bests him in a fight. The passive demon, lingering. She lifts her chin. "I love her completely. But this is not about Victoria or even Rose herself. It's about finishing the turn. And then we go back to London and rip the Brotherhood to pieces."

"The…Brotherhood of the Buried Flesh?"

"Yes."

Emmett winces. Growing up in the slums, there is little imagery as threatening as a diamond formation of the black-cloaked cultists culling the streets at night. His older sister was ripped away into the darkness when Emmett was a child. She died that night, even if she lived twenty years more. The ashen claws of the Buried Flesh mean a certain death, not a swift one. Emmett unclenches his jaw. "I will help you."

"What?" Bella pushes her book closed.

"When we return to London. I'll help you. I have my reasons. Besides, they've gotten too comfortable."

…

…

"If you knew, then why did you agree?"

Captain Whitlock ignores the woman as he pulls the last of the bluing bodies into the hold. Pitched overboard with a weight tied to the feet is more honorable than decaying onboard- every sailor knows- but this water is not an acceptable grave. It flows thick with demons, scouring for a host- alive or otherwise. Like their serpentine friend.

" _Captain Whitlock_ ," the Lord Mayor's Rose insists.

"A moment, Rosie. After all, this is your doing."

She leans against the opposite wall of the corridor in that heavy, drained way that doesn't suit her pedigree, only her affliction. A vampire's thrall and half one herself. A lot of horror wars within London's Light.

The captain arranges a few stiff limbs before driving the door shut with his shoulder. He brushes his hands together and offers his arm to the fading woman. "If I would have refused you, you would've chosen someone else. Someone with a full crew and not the slightest idea of what was about to unfold."

Rosalie considers that. "You downsized your crew… to contain my inevitable tragedy."

"Yes."

She looks away then. "I am out of control, I know."

Jasper leads them around a corner near the dining area. It's a ghost town aside from Miss Swan and Emmett, who he supposes has reclaimed his title of first mate. Rosalie stills at the sight of the empty room. No bustling cook, no roguish and rowdy crewmates crashing their mugs together and laughing. Jasper pats the cool arm on his elbow as they continue on.

"How is Miss Swan," he asks her.

"Quite possessed."

"Does that change your plans?"

She shakes her head but betrays no more.

…

…

Rose watches from the doorway as Bella speaks to it.

She's sitting on their bed, still as a statue with her eyes closed and her voice barely above a whisper. A nonexistent breeze moves through her hair and pulls it from her shoulders in soft ripples. She smiles as it tickles her cheeks, charmed and radiant.

Cold bands of guilt surround the half-vampire. If it wasn't for her, Bella wouldn't have died in the first place. Over and over, she'd pledged her life to Rosalie, but they were always just _words_. Lovely words, until her heart stopped for real. Then it became something.

But it was the demon who pulled her pulse back from the grave, from the pile of bloated bodies in the hold. Rose can hear it wrapped around Bella's heart, subtly changing the sputtering pattern of it. It perfectly healed her, but as with any curse from the dark, there will be a price. Eventually.

Bella's eyes snap open, glowing gold for a few seconds before they settle back to her usual warm brown. She smiles at Rose in the doorway and holds out her hand.

"How long have you been there?"

"A year and a day." She pushes off the frame of the door and walks into the room, caressing Bella's jaw as she passes. "How are you feeling?"

"Strong," she says, and with it, she grips Rose's wrist.

Rose glances down with interest. It isn't like her to take charge in a situation she can't slash her way out of. "I suppose you're feeling _brave_ as well."

"No, just tired."

"Rest then, my dear. I've only come to change."

Bella wraps her other hand around Rose's elbow and pulls herself up. On her feet, she's still a few inches shorter. When they lie together, she fits quite perfectly into the hollow of Rose's body.

"I'm tired of waiting for you to come back to me."

Rose feels her face fall. She turns her gaze away lest the last sliver of her humanity give her away.

"I am possessed, but _you_ are different."

"Bella, I-"

"I know it scared you," she says quietly. "It scared me too, but I didn't go through all that just to lose you."

Lose her? Rose almost scoffs. Burned alive, wooden stake to the heart; it would make no difference. She covers Bella's hand at her elbow with her own. "I am yours alone. Forever."

"Then come to bed. Please."

The _please_ is more like the Bella she knows so well. It makes her smile despite the thirst and the guilt. She lets Bella tug her down, but beyond that, she will be led no more.

She runs her fingers through Bella's soft hair fanned out on the pillow, pausing halfway down. "When it talks to you, what does it say?"

Bella smiles beneath her. Brash. "Terrible things, my Rose."

…

…

"Why are you traveling?" the brute asks as Edward gingerly steps over the cracked boards and puddles. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the _Klytaimestra_ was slowly sinking.

Edward tucks his field journal beneath his arm. The first few days are penned in great detail. From the meals to the shine of mist on metal in the rigging. But ever since the attack and the mysterious slaughter of the crew, the entries have grown a bit dire. Nobody on board seems to have an explanation for him.

Nobody on board seems to have a good word for him at all.

Isabella wordlessly drags her thumb across her throat and mimes decapitation every time they come across one another, the captain is insane (and always has been), and the Lord Mayor's Rose looks quite simply _murderous_ at all times. They do not make for good company. How he misses the pestering ways of Mike Newton these days.

Mr. McCarty isn't his first choice, but he seems to be the only acquaintance he has left.

"My children all contracted some fatal illness," he says, hoping to keep his voice stable. "The doctors have given up. This was my last hope."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"But I will not lose faith!" Edward says, straightening. "We've yet to reach the fabled island."

Emmett scratches the back of his head. "Hey, look kid. I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm pretty sure you've been thinking of a different island this whole time."

Edward pales. " _What?_ "

"Yeah, the magic cure-all plants. The fountain of youth, riches beyond belief? All that?"

"Yes…"

"God. That's rough, Oxford."

Edward advances on him and seizes his massive arm. "Then _where_ are we going?"

The brute flicks his hand away like it's nothing but a speck of dirt. "Maybe I shouldn't be the one to tell you, but we're sailing to the Gates of Hell."

Edward feels his knees give, and Mr. McCarty only watches as he falls to the waterlogged floor. He opens his field journal with trembling hands. Someone might as well record this.


	6. Carrion

The Border of Hell is not an island at all but a mass of the rotting stinking corpses of sea monsters putrifying on top of the bones of their ancestors. The wings of carrion birds blacken the sky. Demons hop freely from corpse to corpse. The _Klytaimestra_ moors off the coast, bobbing in the dark fluid of demon souls as Captain Whitlock and Emmett row their passengers on the dinghy to the fleshy shore.

Shadowy hands grip at the oars and the sides of the small boat. Mr. Masen yelps and leaps into the Lord Mayor's Rose's arms. She throws him overboard and laughs darkly as the sticky water envelops him.

After a while, Miss Swan gives her a pointed look to which she rolls her eyes and plucks the scholar from the water. He shivers in silence for the rest of the ride.

In the distance, the sun beats down on the corpses sending heat shimmers into the air. Vultures land to pluck eyeballs and tear stringy flesh from bones. The smell alone hits like a brick wall at each inhale. Jasper grits his teeth and puts all he can into his row. One glance at Emmett tells him they are of the same mind.

Finally, the boat pushes up against the shore with a wet squelch. Terra firma. Sort of. Beneath his boots, gooey, congealed blood slicks the mass grave. The five of them struggle up the beach of ground bone dust to a flatter bit.

Emmett puts his hands on his hips and surveys their dreadful surroundings. "Uh, I don't wanna be that guy, but I hate it here."

Mr. Masen rips Jasper's spyglass from his belt and frantically sweeps the lumpy red and grey hellscape. "No," he mutters. "No, no, no, no, _no_!" He shoves the spyglass back into the captain's chest and tears down the beach to get around the mountain of bones.

The others exchange looks and shrugs. He was bound to lose it at some point.

"THERE ARE NO HERBS HERE!" he screams.

"Idiot," Rosalie says. Through with Mr. Masen's tantrum, she holds her hand out to Miss Swan. "Come, love. There's something we must do."

Jasper watches in mild horror as they climb the bone stairs to the centerpiece of the gruesome island, the head of a kraken. Its ghastly mouth is wrenched open in a permanent death scream and smoldering from the inside. _Abandon hope all ye who enter here_ , indeed.

Mr. Masen struggles back over to them, dejected and out of breath. "My family is as good as dead!" He slumps down on a yellowed incisor the size of a canoe. "Damn it all to Hell!"

The captain glances up at the two women as they disappear into the gaping maw of the kraken. "You're not far off, schoolboy."

…

…

"Are you frightened of dying?" Bella asks as they walk hand and hand into Hell itself. The damp air reeks of rot and an unnamable sourness. Within her, the demon stirs. Home at last.

"I was before I met her." Her voice drops. "I was a lot of things before she came into my life."

Bella nods. "I remember."

"She killed that girl. I'm what's left."

The path curves down into a dark oblivion of simultaneous maddening silence and neverending echoes of anguish. The soft throat of the kraken morphs into hard stone the further they go.

"Is it just me, or is it better _in_ _here_ than it is outside?" Bella says incredulously. But right as she says it, they round a bend that opens out into a vista view of damned souls stuck in traps of agony. Lava flows, ravenous birds, dismemberment. To name a few. The cacophony of unadulterated _misery_ is so grating, Bella feels the demon itching beneath her muscles. Her fingers twitch from a control outside her own.

"Rose…" she says warily.

"Close your eyes, Isabella," Rose whispers. "Lean into me."

…

…

A throne room is located inside a gigantic pulsing heart entered only through a fleshy vein tunnel. Theatrical. This really _must_ be Hell. Rose holds Bella behind her as they approach the jagged obsidian steps. She can hear Bella's heart straining around the grip of her demon.

Two of the three gnarled ivory thrones are filled.

"Rosie!" a voice rings out. Her fangs descend at the memories attached to it. "I can't believe you actually came."

When she looks up, the sight of her alone is enough to push her to the edge of a frenzy. Sitting comfortably in a jeweled throne, tight blood-red dress, smug grin. And her _hair_ , the wildest mane of red to ever exist, she's certain.

"Most women would have run off to France. Not _Hell_!"

Victoria's grin brightens tenfold. "You know me, Rosie. I always wanted the world to burn, but Hell has always been aflame. Aro grabbed my heart," she says, brushing her fingers through the jet black hair of the devastatingly striking woman beside her. The dark lord herself, watching them with little interest. "I couldn't get any closer to the carnage unless I ruled the throne myself."

Rose waves her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. An anarchist's dream. You left me for Satan."

The Devil, Aro, rests her chin on her palm and smiles, stroking the head of the skeletal hound at her other side.

"Who says I left you?" Victoria teases.

"The insatiable bloodlust."

Victoria's dark red eyes glint dreamily. "Halves are such treasures, don't you think? Volatile. High off their own blood half the time, dizzy with aggression and _thirst_. Their human hearts can't withstand it. They burn out so quickly, it's almost poetic. I must admit, I'm quite jealous."

Even now after the heartbreak and pain, the sear of the venom, the abandonment, she feels that old asinine _pull_ to the woman. Enthralled. Her vial is all but smoking on its cord. But Bella- her only Bella- squeezes her forearm and runs her thumb back and forth, holding her to what's real.

Cooled slightly, Rose collects her words. "You say you want chaos and ruin, yet you hold me back in this form."

"Chaos, you say?" Aro pipes in, halfway smiling like this is all a bit of fun breaking up the delicious misery of her kingdom.

The tortured screams outside the throne room swell into a vile crescendo, the true hymn of Hell. Rosalie turns her gaze. "I plan to break the world."

Aro glances at Victoria briefly. "Well, if you don't turn her, _I_ will. Though vampires aren't my specialty. How do you feel about wings?"

Bella lets out a breath of a laugh, and Aro's head snaps up gleefully. Victoria frowns as the woman rises from her throne and flies across the glassy floor. Her movements are a fluid promise of the power coiled inside her human form.

"You are one of mine," Aro says, peering over Rose's shoulder at the shivering girl behind.

Rosalie steps into her field of vision, shielding the girl the best she can. But she knows in the pit of her stomach, if it really came down to it, she could not protect her from the Devil.

"Show yourself, I mean you no harm," Aro says impatiently. Bella's eyes flash yellow as she peeks out from behind the half-vampire, and Aro laughs into the discordant misery. "It's been ages since this has happened!"

"So…she'll be alright?" Rose asks.

Aro nods. "Oh, yes. Better than alright. I believe she is better suited to disorder than even you, Light of London."

Rose grits her teeth at the goddamned Devil's use of one of her millions of ridiculous names. "How so?"

The Devil grins and snaps her fingers at Victoria. "Take her into battle and find out."

…

…

Emmett's jaw drops to the spongy blubber at his feet when they return. Miss Hale and Bella, a flaming redhead he decides is Victoria, and Satan herself. The captain takes off his hat and holds it to his chest as the group of inhuman women approaches.

"Aro, I love what you've done with the exterior," Victoria says, twirling on a beast's tongue.

"Enough playing around, girl," the Devil, _Aro_ , chides. She nods at the redhead who rolls her scarlet eyes before grabbing Miss Hale by the shoulders and sinking her long fangs into her neck.

Mr. Masen screams and falls backward off the giant tooth he'd been using as a bench. Emmett winces and tries to avert his eyes.

When she pulls away, Miss Hale slaps her across the face. "Fuck you."

"What? It's what you wanted, Rosie," Victoria says sweetly. "Now you'll be a real _beast_!"

"I hate you," London's Light bites back just before she collapses into Bella's waiting arms.

Emmett relieves the girl of the fallen woman, lifting her easily into his arms. He suspects this was the sole reason she hired him. Someone to carry her during her one and only moment of vulnerability before she hardens into stone completely.

He glances out at the sinking _Klytaimestra_ and gives the captain an apologetic look. "How will we get back?"

Aro comes up beside him, just a bit shy of his six-and-a-half feet, and makes a fist out over the water. When she opens her hand, a wave of energy pulses over the black surface of the water. The ground beneath them begins to shake as the points of three masts rise up from the misty water, followed eventually by an entire ghost ship that appears to be made completely out of- yet again- the corpses of monsters.

"Did you like that trick?" Aro asks, tilting her head like a curious barn cat.

"Uh, sure," he says unevenly.

"I could show you. I could teach you so much."

Emmett laughs uncomfortably. "Lemme guess… At the expense of my immortal soul?"

"See, you've got it!"

He lifts the unconscious Miss Hale over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "I'll tell you what, lady. Ask me again when I'm dead."


	7. Run

Captain Whitlock swings onto the deck of the _Tamar_ with slightly dampened enthusiasm as the entire ship reeks of guts and death, but she's fast and armed to the teeth.

He prays that Alice can see him coming home to her, that she didn't give him up for dead yet. After this, he's never leaving her behind again. Or taking another job from a feral noblewoman… Unless she's got the coin, that is.

He throws an arm around Emmett's shoulders as they watch the Border shrink from view. "Look at that, Em! You and me, to Hell and back!"

Emmett lets out a deep breath and nods once with a grunt. "Captain, I'm joining the anarchists."

"I'm shaking. Tell me more."

…

…

Bella finds Mr. Masen on the high deck trying to write in his field journal with a shaky hand. It's more than a little bit surprising that he's survived this long. If he hadn't been such a lazy idiot, the serpent surely would've eaten him. And it was sheer luck that saved him from Rose's rampage and the millions of other times she could have killed him for nothing.

He looks up when she approaches. "Miss Swan, I'd rather no-"

"Here," she says, handing him a beaker with a cork topper.

"What's this?"

"Your cure-all."

He sits up and stares at the glowing purple contents. "What? How-"

"Made a deal with the Devil," she says far too casually. Then she narrows her eyes. " _Heal_ your family, apologize- in depth- to your wife, and hire a swordsman to teach your kids to fight. That way they won't be as helpless as you've been, Mr. Masen."

"I don't know how to thank you."

"I'll take another drawing. No hearts though."

He smiles at that and shakes the beaker a little. "So what's the catch?"

"Oh, when you die, you're going to Hell. For certain. I told her you already were, but that was the deal she wanted, so there you go."

Mr. Masen chokes a bit on dense air. "Oh… Well, that's okay, I su-suppose."

"Good," she says, "because it's already in motion."

…

…

Another bag of coin lands noisily on the bone table before him and with it, Bella hops on the table, glowing in some strange way that must be the doing of demon beneath her skin. But she looks hopeful and brighter than she did at the start of their journey. He would like to think at this point, they are friends.

"What's this?" Emmett asks.

"She didn't pay you enough, I know. She gets that from her father."

In truth, she'd paid him more money than he could wrap his head around. But he takes the bag anyway. After all, Miss Hale never said anything about human sacrifice and demon serpents. And Satan, in all her dark and treacherous beauty.

"She'll lose everything. Does she know that?"

Bella nods after a moment. On the table, her hand twitches. "She knows what it means to finish something."

"How's the... turn going?"

Another twitch. She looks down at her hand in puzzlement. "Almost through."

...

...

Nearly back to London, Rose wakes from the relentless fire finishing her off. With a hand to her chest, she laughs breathlessly. No heartbeat. When she stands, there is no weakness lingering around the corner, no dizziness or haze of incomplete immortality. She feels strong for the first time in months, in her whole life, even. She tugs the cold vial from her neck and tosses it aside, alive with the clean cut from Victoria's potent thrall.

Bella lifts her head from her book at the desk. The surprise in her wide eyes excites Rose beyond compare. "Hey, you," she says as she rises. "Better?"

" _Much_."

"Ready to ' _break the world?'_ " she teases with one of her smiles that never fails to warm Rose's chest.

"Not yet."

"Oh? A few boxes unchecked then?" She holds out her hand and counts off her fingers. "We went to Hell, I got possessed, you got turned, we recruited Emmett… Anything else?"

Rose nuzzles her warm neck and inhales the only sweetness on board this disgusting Hell ship. "I'd like to spend the night with you if you'll have me."

She revels in the way Bella melts into her. "Of course," she says. "You need never ask."

"I know. I love you."

Bella sighs, embarrassed. "I love you, too."

…

…

The harbor in the morning sun is a welcome sight. Captain Whitlock steers the abomination of a ship skillfully into port, strangely proud of the wide berth the other captains and dock workers give the vessel. He fears the _Tamar_ may be growing on him, flapping rags of flesh and all.

Emmett is the first off the ship, dutifully clearing a path for the woman who hired him at the start of all this.

Jasper looks fondly at the pair of women as they share a kiss before descending the loading ramp hand in hand, a chorus of townie screams in their wake. The docks are no doubt painted with their pretty faces. Wanted for the bloody murder of the kindly Lord Mayor Hale.

The torches are lit at the Buried Church. The Brotherhood is gathering tonight from all over England, perhaps to appoint a new head. How fortunate for the anarchists. He wonders idly if it would be terribly difficult to sway Alice to the side of chaos. With her visions, they would go from unstoppable to _invincible_.

Something to think about once the streets run red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For vargulllf, whose prompt I did not follow in the least bit <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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